And now I don't know

what will happen.

It's quite a catch-22, if

you think about it.

You care enough for me

to want to know

what I have planned in 

my unseen future,

But simultaneously, simple

facts are difficult 

and what I have planned

will probably have

adverse affects on some

if any, of the kind

thoughts you may from

time to time think.

I think we are all pretty

clear with whose

fault the ending of "us"

actually was--not

a doubt at all about that

particular mystery--

and I think I'm something

of a pain magnet.

I bring it to me, everyone around me, 

and I don't really have poles either:

wreckless shit just piling up at the

patchwork fence that surrounds me--

a heinous rubble testament that

sometimes make me wish I didn't

have quite so much land, because it

can be fairly difficult to maintain

appearances--

And now I don't know 

what will happen.

I did love you once.

I know we made it there.

I believe you think so too, and

for every good reason; we

did make it to love.

Perhaps I'm a sentimental sophomore,

but I do think that is something that

ought to be honored and upheld.  It's

impossible to know what may have

been.

But I am gone as the wind.

I checked out already, I think,

and we are just waiting for

the final shoe to drop.  I have

been living in Exhaustedville

for way too long, now it's naptime.

I could say I'm sorry forever.